


the one you come home to

by aspartaeme



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Pining, yes they are in an established relationship and yes there is pining i said what i said
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 15:50:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20969099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspartaeme/pseuds/aspartaeme
Summary: Steve is standing in the apartment hedoesn'tshare with Billy, because theycan'tbe sharing an apartment, surrounded byBilly'sthings, because even though Billy doesn't live here he's somehowalwayshere, cookingBilly'sfavorite food, because it's been six days since Monday and the bruises have finally started to fade, and to Steve's mind that meritssomekind of celebration, andthe only thing he can smell is Billy's cologne.





	the one you come home to

**Author's Note:**

> so i was listening to alex lahey's _i want to live with you_, which is an emphatically soft and sweet song, and decided i wanted to write something short and domestic and halloween related, and. i ended up with 7k words of something full of angst and pining that has absolutely nothing to do with halloween except being vaguely set around it. here, enjoy

It starts with a bag of frozen peas. 

Well. 

Actually, it starts like this - back in February, with Steve being draggedin an empty classroom, and with Billy's tongue in his mouth, and Billy's tongue on his stomach, and Billy's tongue on his cock, and it starts with _that was great, Harrington, we should do this again, _and. 

And it also starts with Steve alone, late for his algebra class, trying to catch his breath, absolutely fucking _freezing _because it's _February_, and the heat isn't on, because the room is fucking _empty, _which is probably why Billy chose _this_ one to give Steve the World's Best Blowjob, and Steve's mind is an endless loop of _what the fuck _and _I wouldn't feel so cold if he was still here, _and. 

And then it starts like this - it's Saturday, a week from Halloween, and Steve is making spaghetti with tuna and peas, and his night is _already _going all kinds of wrong, because he didn't bother checking the freezer for peas before leaving for work, even though he's been planning this meal _all_ _week_, and he's learned by now to _always _keep a bag of peas in his kitchen, but Billy was here on Monday, and it took longer than usual for the bruises to get numb, and by then the peas had gone all warm and mushy and _bad_, so Steve had to throw them away, and. 

And this week's been kind of crazy, because college applications are due, and Steve has absolutely _no _reason to be affected by this, has already _been _through it last year, been rejected by _five _interstate colleges, and he _only_ ever applied to the ones everyone says are the _easiest_ to get into in the first place, but Robin is _smart_, and her skills aren't limited to rearranging tapes on shelves and babysitting teenagers, and she's probably going to get accepted to _every _college she'll apply to, so. 

Steve's been covering for her at work, taking up an excessive amount of hours to give her time to write the essays and read the brochures and go through a process Steve never actually bothered paying attention to, because Steve's _never_ getting out of Hawkins, but Robin _can_, actually has the chance to, and Steve's not going to let her waste it because he needs to go _grocery shopping_. 

But - it's Saturday, which means Billy's coming over, and Steve _has _to make pasta with tuna _and _peas, because it's Billy's _favorite dish in the whole world, and Susan _never _puts enough peas in, like what is even the _point _of making it if you're not gonna put enough peas in, right Harrington, _and Steve's _already_ running late, because apparently fourteen year-olds are physically _incapable _of grasping the concept of _we're closing in ten, _but he still sprints to the store to get peas, _two _bags of them, one for the food and the other - 

Just in case. 

* 

Billy, unlike Steve, is _smart_. 

Not _Robin _kind of smart, not _Dustin_ kind of smart either, but a kind of smart that translates to straight A's on the minimum amount of studying, and having people wrapped around his finger, and always being able to know what Steve thinks. 

Billy's in Robin's class, and his grades are almost better than hers, and Steve knows he should've made the connection, because Robin's been taking his ear off about college, and about grades, and about application deadlines, and Steve knows Billy's been itching to leave Hawkins behind ever since he set foot here, and. 

It still hits him like a punch to the face, one Billy doesn't deliver but is still responsible for, when he sees the letter. 

They'd been fooling around in the Camaro a week ago, which didn't happen often these days, because they've -_Steve's- _got an apartment, _specifically_ for that purpose, and they had pulled over at a gas station, because Steve got a sudden craving for Razzles, and Billy grumbled under his breath and went to bring Steve some anyway, and Steve's attention span is practically non-existent, so Billy had been gone for approximately 30 seconds when Steve opened the glove box to find a tape with music that _didn't _sound like someone bestowed a chainsaw to an angry toddler, and. 

The envelope was addressed to UCLA, stamp already in place, ready to be sent. 

Steve could hear the edges of the world folding in on themselves. 

And it wasn't like Steve didn't _know_, because Billy is _smart, _and Billy doesn't belong in Hawkins, and Billy's been leaving Steve behind every day for the last eight months, so Steve should've been more prepared, he should've been less surprised, but the only thing going through his mind was _bullshit._

Billy came back, throwing two packs of Razzles at Steve's lap, because _you always say you prefer the sour and then you complain and I'm not in the mood for your whining, Harrington,_ and Steve thought about everything he doesn't have and everyone who leaves, and Steve thought _summer's still months away._

* 

Steve gets the peas. 

He _also_ ends up grabbing a couple of Snickers on the way out, because two weeks ago they were lying in bed, sweaty and exhausted and _aching _for something sweet, and Steve remembered he had some Snickers left from the last time Dustin came over, and Billy _jumped _out of Steve's bed, said _I fucking _love _Snickers, _ran to the kitchen to get them, and by the time Steve found him he'd already inhaled _three, _which meant there was only _one _left for Steve, and Steve can never eat _just one, _like, he _has _to have _at least _two, even though he doesn't even _like _Snickers_, _but Billy had _never _used _that _word in front of Steve before, and. 

And then Billy looked at him, mouth still chewing on peanuts and chocolate, a string of caramel hanging from the corner of his lips, eyes gleaming, said, _you want the last one?_

And Steve's heart did _something, _and his mouth opened up to say something stupid, like _I've never seen you look so happy, _or _I'd give you anything, _or - 

And he knows he's not allowed to say _any _of that, so. 

Billy ended up eating the last bar, too. 

* 

So Steve gets the peas, and he's standing in the kitchen, waiting for the water to boil, and it's October, and that means they've been doing this _thing, _which started out as blowjobs in empty classrooms and turned into Steve cooking Billy dinner, for eight months, and. 

And the only thing Steve can smell is Billy's cologne. 

Steve is standing in the apartment he _doesn't _share with Billy, because they _can't _be sharing an apartment, surrounded by _Billy's_ things, because even though Billy doesn't live here he's somehow _always _here, cooking _Billy's_ favorite food, because it's been six days since Monday and the bruises have finally started to fade, and to Steve's mind that merits _some_ kind of celebration, and _the only thing he can smell is Billy's cologne. _

Billy's scent lingers, he finds out pretty early on. 

Steve knows he shouldn't be surprised, has seen Billy's ritual more times than he cares to remember, almost knows it by heart. 

He figures he's probably spent _hours_ observing how Billy gets dressed, putting on every piece of clothing slowly, reverently, like a knight reassembling his armour before going to battle, how he fixes his hair, making sure his curls look exactly the same, like he hasn't spent the last three hours on his back, begging Steve to go _harder, Harrington, fuck, I'm falling asleep here, come _on, how he puts his jacket on, how he always ends the process by _bathing _himself in his perfume, getting rid of every other scent, of _their _scent. 

So Steve shouldn't be surprised that his apartment, the one he unequivocally does _not _share with Billy, ends up smelling like musk and pine trees and _Billy_. 

Because apparently, Billy's scent is the only part of him that stays behind. 

* 

The thing is - 

They're not _together. _

Steve knows that, because Billy's made that _very _clear from the beginning, because Billy _can't _be with Steve, because they live in Hawkins, and not all monsters are found in the woods, and not all monsters can be chased away with nail-studded bats. 

So they're not together, and Billy's _not _Steve's _boyfriend, _and _Steve's_ not Billy's _anything, _but the apartment Steve rents smells like Billy, and his bookcase is filled with Billy's books, and Billy's clothes take over half of Steve's wardrobe, and Steve _always _sleeps on the left side of the bed, because Billy likes sleeping closer to the window, and. 

And Billy _never_ stays the night, is the thing. 

Billy never stays the night, and Steve doesn't _read _books, _at all, _so there's _no _reason to have a bookcase in the apartment he _doesn't _share with Billy, and there's _no _reason for Steve to sleep on one side of the bed, or even _think _of the other one as _Billy's _side, because they're _not _together, and Billy _doesn't _live here, and Billy _leaves._

Steve's stupid. 

Like, he knows that. He's _accepted _it. 

He knows it because he didn't get into college, and because one night before graduation he overheard his dad talking to his mom about _his _future, and Steve's dad had said Steve was _intellectually challenged, _which is a fancier, prettier word for _idiot, _and he knows it because sometimes when Dustin or Robin are using big, complex words he gets lost, and, most of all, he knows it because Steve _knows _Billy can't stay, and he still wants him to. 

He knows he's stupid, because every night Billy gets up, and he starts putting on his clothes, and getting ready to leave, and Steve _knows _how this goes, they've been going through the same dance every night since August, when Steve got this apartment, so he _knows, _and he _still_ opens his mouth, wants to ask Billy to stay. 

And Steve knows he's stupid, because Billy's skin gets golden under the sun, and it _stays _golden, because Billy _refuses _to wear a shirt, not when the sun is out, positively _thrives_ in having his skin on display, but living in Hawkins means he stops getting any sun come September, and he _has _to start wearing shirts again, and that means his skin gets more pale, but it also means it gets black, and blue, and a sickening yellow, and. 

And Steve knows all that, and he still wants Billy to _stay._

* 

Billy never stays, and he never makes plans, and he never promises to come back, even though Steve is almost always sure he will, because Steve has Billy's _books, _the ones Neil threatened to _burn, _like in that novel Billy was reading a month ago, and Steve thinks Billy would never leave without his books, not for good, anyway, so. 

So Steve is cooking Billy's favorite meal, enveloped by Billy's scent, and it's Saturday, and he should be happy, because Saturday means Billy has the excuse to go out and _stay _out, because apparently Billy's dad is opposed to him reading books about people who burn them, but not opposed to Billy getting drunk at some party every Saturday, except Billy hasn't been to a party in _months, _and Steve knows that because Saturday means falling asleep in Billy's arms, and Steve has never met Neil Hargrove, but he suspects he would be _very _opposed to that. 

He should be happy, because they don't talk about it, but every Saturday Billy becomes softer, more tender, doesn't ask for _harder, _holds Steve close after, cards his fingers through Steve's hair, almost always waits until Steve's asleep, and his breathing's evened out, to close his eyes. 

Steve never asks, and Billy never offers any answer. 

He's never there when Steve wakes up every Sunday. 

And it's October, and they've been doing _this _since _February, _and Steve got the apartment in _August, _and he's _never woken up with Billy, _and Steve wants _more._

* 

Billy finds him like this, standing over the pan of boiling water, bag of peas in hand, thinking about all the things he's not allowed to talk about. 

'Harrington?' Billy says, tentatively, and if Steve turned around just then he would catch the concern etching a path over Billy's brows. 

Steve blinks, looks at the pan, his hands, the box of spaghetti next to him. He doesn't turn around. 

'Harrington,' Billy repeats, carefully, 'you okay?' 

And Steve is - as far from okay as possible, really. 

Because Steve's graduated in May, and it's October, and he's still in Hawkins, working at the local video store, paying rent for an apartment two people occupy but only one sleeps in, spending every day wondering if Billy will come _home _tonight. 

And Billy's got _keys, _even though he doesn't live here, even though they're _nothing, _even though _they don't talk about it, _and he _always_ ends up using them, which is why he's standing in Steve's kitchen right now, trying to mask the concern in his voice, asking if Steve's _okay, _calling Steve _Harrington. _

And something just - snaps. 

Because Steve's stupid, and in love, and he's never felt so _tired_ in his whole life, and when he turns around Billy's standing by the kitchen door, something uncertain, and frustrated, and something Steve can't translate, flashing over his face, like he can't for the life of him fathom one single reason why Steve wouldn't be _okay. _

So Steve says, voice low and seething and threatening to spill over, like the water in the pan behind him, 'I don't know, _Hargrove_, am I?' 

Billy - visibly _recoils. _Takes a step back. Looks _threatened._

'What crawled up your ass and died, pretty boy?' 

Steve wants to _scream._

Billy takes a breath, seems to decide on something, comes closer. 

Says, 'Harrington, come on, what's wrong?' 

Steve thinks of everything he _doesn't_ share with Billy. His apartment, his bed, his _life_. 

Steve thinks, _fuck it._ It's not like he has something to lose, not _really_. 

So he says, voice hard as steel, 'What are you doing here, Billy? What are _we_ doing? What _is _this?' 

Billy looks - _stricken_. Like Steve betrayed his trust, like they have an agreement, a pact of silence, and Steve's ripping everything to pieces. 

Like Steve _hurt_ him. 

'I can go, if you want me to,' he says, something fragile and tense and unforgiving in his voice. 

Steve - _gapes_ at him. 

Because like, Billy leaving is the one thing Steve _never_ wants to think about, even if he knows how inevitable it is, _despite _knowing that. 

Steve _never_ wants Billy to leave, but Billy always does it anyway. 

'Go?' he says, voice verging on hysterical, because this isn't happening, this _can't_ be happening. 'Billy, I _never_ want you to go! All I do is sit in this fucking apartment and wait for _you_! I could've been anywhere else by now, have you ever thought of that? But I'm still in Hawkins, I'm still _here_, for _you_!' 

'Well I never fucking _asked_ you to, did I?' Billy's voice is cold, cruel in a way it hasn't been in months, not towards Steve. 'I never said I expected anything from you, Harrington, and I _definitely _didn't give you the right to expect anything from _me_.' 

It takes a beat for the words to sink in. A beat, and then - 

Steve thinks about bruised faces, and empty beds, and bags of peas, and college applications, and he looks at Billy who's still waiting for an answer, who'll be gone before Steve wakes up tomorrow anyway, and Steve _can't breathe_. 

'Yeah,' Steve says, resigned and tired and grasping for something that was never his in the first place, 'you're right. I - You're right. I don't know what I was thinking.' 

His mind is screaming at him to _get out_, out of this apartment that holds everything he wants and can't have, get as far away from Billy as possible. 

He mentally recites the motions until he's at the door, one-two-three steps out of the kitchen, keys-jacket-shoes, and then he's gone. 

* 

He drives and drives, and drives. 

And Hawkins is a tiny, insignificant dot on the map, but fields and trees and roads are endless, and they all look the same, and none of them remind him of Billy, except everything does, these days, and. 

Steve looks at the sky, dark blue and boundless, and thinks about blue eyes, and blue bruises, and blue waves. 

He thinks about letters to places hundreds of miles away from here, and apartments filled with things that belong to people who are not there, and the transient feeling of blonde curls through his fingers, and he thinks that when Billy said _do you want me to go_ he probably meant _i want you to want me to go, because I'm leaving anyway, because what we have was never enough to stop me, because it'll hurt less._

He drives and he drives and he drives, and thinks of _bullshit_ and bags of peas and how unfairly close May seems now, and how there won't be anyone calling him _princess_, and _pretty boy_, and _Harrington_, this time next year. 

And then he stops driving, because Robin always says he's not good at doing many things simultaneously, only she uses this big multi-_something_ word Steve never remembers, and apparently she's right about _that_, too, because Steve finds out he's not good at driving and sobbing violently at the same time, either. 

* 

The thing is - 

The light is still on when he crawls through his front door three hours later. 

Billy - he always makes a scene about how Steve's careless about money, how he leaves the lights on when he's not in a room, how Steve was _born with a silver spoon in your mouth, Harrington, I swear_, which can only mean - 

Steve finds him on the bed, curled towards the door, eyes still closed, wearing Steve's old Hawkins High hoodie. 

Steve's spent three hours crying, which is three hours more than he's _ever_ cried in his life, so he really thought he'd be all dried up by now, but. 

Steve's never seen Billy sleeping before, taking up as little space as possible in a bed Steve thinks of as _theirs_, relaxed in a way Billy never is, not when he's awake, and it's October, and Billy graduates in May, and. 

What Steve's found out throughout the last three hours of incessant crying, apart from the fact that he's apparently capable of producing a vast amount of tears, is that he cries _loudly_. 

Which is - typical. Like, he can't even be good at _crying_. 

So _of course_ the sight Billy wakes up to is Steve, leaning against the door frame, trying to stifle his sobs, failing spectacularly, crying even harder because of that. 

'You're still here,' he manages through tears. 

Billy, sits up, still wiping the sleep from his eyes. 'Where else would I be?' 

Steve is drained. He just - can't keep up with the game anymore. 

'I don't know, Billy,' he says, voice bitter and sharp, because he needs Billy to know, he needs him to _understand_, 'why _would_ you be here? It's not like I'm allowed to _want_ you here, right?' 

Billy is silent for several long moments, moments Steve spends contemplating walking out of the apartment again, maybe getting in his car and driving and never turning back. 

Finally, Billy stands up. Walks towards Steve, who's still perched on the door frame, holding on to it like a lifeline. Billy looks - guilty, almost. Like having his words thrown back at him have shaken something in him, made him regret putting them out there so carelessly. 

Except Billy never regrets _anything_, and he _never _admits to having done anything wrong, _ever_. 

So instead he says, 'You were making dinner. My favorite.' 

Steve has _no_ idea what's going on. 'Yeah?' he says, sniffing loudly. 

Billy steps closer, crowds him in, making sure everything Steve sees is _Billy_. 

'Baby,' he says, shaking his head, looking sadder than Steve's ever seen him before, 'I'm so sorry.' 

Steve is fairly certain he's hallucinating. Like, he probably overdosed on the salt of his tears, or something. 

Billy _never_ apologizes, and he _never_ calls Steve _baby._

He rakes through his brain for something to say, something other than _don't ever stop calling me that_, or _you look so beautiful when you're sleeping_, or - something he's _never_ supposed to say, comes up short. 

Thinks about colleges, and letters, and blue waves. 

So Steve says, 'You're going home.' 

'I - what?' 

Billy sounds confused. Billy _never_ sounds confused. 

'I saw the letter,' Steve explains, 'to UCLA. You're going home after graduation.' 

'Is this was that was about?' Billy says, infuriatingly unaffected. 'I was going to tell you about it.' 

'Were you? Or were you just planning on leaving without saying a thing?' Steve hisses, venom in his voice working wonders to mask the pain. 'You seem to be very good at that.' 

Billy furrows his brows. Looks lost, off-kilter. 

'I was waiting for the right moment,' he says, carefully. 

'To what? _Leave_ me? It's not like we're together anyway, right? You don't have to explain yourself to me.' 

'Leave - what the fuck are you talking about?' Something frantic and terrified dances in Billy's eyes, makes him take a step forward, cup Steve's face in his hands. 'Steve, baby, I was waiting to ask you to come _with_ me.' 

Steve feels nauseous, and small, and shattered. 

'Don't, Billy, that - that's just cruel,' he says, because Billy doesn't mean it, _can't_ mean it. 

Billy searches his face, drops his hands, takes a step back, leans on the other side of the door frame. He stands there, body slumped and folded, shoulders pushed down with an invisible weight. 

He looks as tired as Steve feels. 

He curses under his breath, something like defeat settling over him. 

'Steve - ' he chokes out, strained and worn and _desperate_, 'I'm here because _you're_ here, and the only place I want to be is back _home_, but it's not home, not _without_ you, so I - I've been wanting to ask you and I thought you'd say no and I just wanna go _home_ but I - I _can't_ go, not without you, so.' 

He stops, chest heaving like this is the hardest thing he's ever done, he'll _ever_ do, curls in on himself, says, softly, 'I thought maybe if I waited - maybe you'd say yes.' 

Steve thinks he's having a heatstroke, remembers it's October, thinks he's having one anyway. 

'But you _leave_, Billy,' he says, and he hates how broken he sounds. 'You _always_ leave.' 

Billy looks up at that, something like clarity in his eyes, his face softer, like Steve just soothed something in him. 'You never asked me to stay,' he says, like it's that simple, and it sounds sad, but it sounds hopeful, too. 

Steve looks at Billy, looks at the bookcase filled with books he's never read, at the bed with one side unmade, realizes he found Billy sleeping at _his_. Remembers he thought he was missing something, some important part of the puzzle, looks at Billy again, who's waiting for him, the way Steve has been waiting for Billy, decides maybe he's not missing anything after all. 

'I got this for _you_,' he says, gesturing at the apartment, _their _apartment, 'for _us. _Billy, I got this apartment so we could - so we didn't have to wait until we were out of here to be together, so we could at least have this _here_.' He cups Billy's face, covers the fading bruises, gently, carefully. 'So you'd never have to go back to - _that_.' 

Billy's never felt so fragile between his hands. Breakable, almost. 

He looks at Steve, blue eyes-blue bruises-blue waves, something like awe and elation and - something they don't talk about swimming in all that blue, breathes a laugh. 

'We're unbelievable, aren't we?' He doesn't wait for an answer, surges in, instead, kisses Steve like he'll never have the chance to, again, like maybe this is the first time he's ever really been allowed to. 

Steve - holds on to him. Pushes his fingers through Billy's hair, _tugs_, swallows every moan, his, or Billy's, there's no way to know, not with the way they are melting into each other, decides it's not important, bites down on Billy's bottom lip instead. 

It's always been like this, between them, frantic and urgent and unstoppable, but _this_ kind of desperation is new. 

It feels like - like they need to be as close to each other as possible, like they'll _die_ if they stay apart for another second. 

Billy kisses him, and it feels the same way it always does, and it feels _nothing_ like that. 

It's like - Billy's not holding back anymore. 

They kiss and kiss, teeth biting and teasing, tongues battling and soothing, until they can't breathe, until they _have _to come up for air, just for a second, and then they kiss some more. 

Steve doesn't realize how _hard_ he is, until Billy forces Steve's legs apart, settles himself between them, pushes in even closer, _thrusts_. 

The sound that comes out of Steve's mouth is - not even _remotely_ human. 

Billy laughs against his lips, the absolute bastard, drapes his body all over Steve's, makes sure Steve can feel every part of him, hard and hot and all _his_, builds up a rhythm, keeps them rutting desperately against the door frame. 

And like - no. 

There's no way Steve's letting them come like this, rubbing against each other like they're back in the high school changing rooms, chasing their high hurriedly, urgently, in fear of being caught. Not after the night they've had, after everything exchanged between them. 

So he licks into Billy's mouth, slow and heady and easy, which _always_ works, because Billy goes so, so pliant, gets distracted enough that he doesn't protest, not even a bit, when Steve turns them around, walks them backwards towards the bed, flops down on it, takes Billy with him. 

Steve looks up, takes in the sight of Billy in his arms, straddling him, regal and reverent all at once, hair a beautiful mess, Steve's hoodie clinging on his skin, thinks how close he came to losing this tonight. 

'Billy,' he sighs, and he wants to say something entirely different, something he wasn't allowed to, not until today, something he sees reflected in blue eyes looking down at him, but he _can't_, not now, not when everything is still so raw and open and bleeding, so he reaches up, twines his hands behind Billy's neck, pulls him down to lick the words into his mouth, kiss them into existence. 

Billy laughs, softly, happily, and Steve thinks maybe he understands. 

Thinks maybe they've been speaking the same forbidden language to each other for months. 

But it's still too soon, and Steve's been on the verge of spilling over for so long, and there's only so much he can do to bite back the one thing he desperately wants to say, especially with the way Billy's looking at him, like Steve's not alone on this, feeling so _much_ and not knowing what to do with it, and he's still _aching_ in his pants, needs to feel Billy's skin against his, so he drags his nails down Billy's thighs, slowly, keeping his touch light and teasing, knows exactly what to expect. 

Steve's spent months learning how to read the boy in his arms, and it's paying off. 

Billy shivers, buries his teeth on Steve's shoulder, moves against him with renewed fervor. His breathing is labored, and they're both still fully clothed. 

Steve - basks in that victory. 

He figures Billy can handle being left waiting for a bit, _deserves_ it. 

So he pushes him off, stands up, starts taking off his shirt, slow as death. 

He pointedly avoids Billy's eyes. 

He's already leaking in his jeans, their make-out session more intense than anything they've ever done throughout these eight months, and when he starts unbuttoning them Billy surges forward, starts batting Steve's hands away, mouth half-open and eager, like Steve's cock in his mouth is the only thing that will keep him from starving to death. 

And Steve - he _desperately_ wants Billy's mouth on him, around him, swallowing him down like it's his life's only purpose, but. 

He's already so close, and Billy can bring him off with just a few licks, with just these eyes looking up at him, hazed and blazing, and Steve - he's got _other plans_. 

He grabs Billy's wrists, enough force for Billy to get the message, but not to hurt, _never_ to hurt, huffs a laugh at the noise that escapes Billy's mouth, a whine if Steve ever heard one, kisses the frown off his face. 

'Steve, baby, come _on_,' Billy drawls, looking three seconds away from ripping off his clothes and jerking off until he comes on Steve's feet. 'Lemme taste you, baby, _please_.' 

Steve stays silent. Steps out of his jeans, dragging it out a bit, for the sheer triumph of seeing Billy slowly descending into madness. Stands in front of Billy, who's still kneeling on the bed, makes a show of rubbing himself through his tented boxers, cotton clinging to his skin, relishes the look on Billy's face, _ravenous_, the way he swallows, licks his lips, replaying the phantom taste of Steve on his tongue. 

He looks _edible_, and Steve _aches_ to touch him, but he knows he won't be able to stop, not after getting that first taste, so he walks to the bedside table, takes out the lube, passes it to Billy, who's still dressed, watching his every move. 

'Take 'em off,' Steve says, gruffly, gesturing towards the sweatpants Billy has on. 

Billy goes to take off his hoodie, _Steve's _hoodie, and - 

'Not the shirt.' Steve flares up with pride at the authority he manages to imbue his voice with, at the fire he sees in Billy's eyes, the way he lightens up. 

Billy takes his hands off the shirt, quickly, like he's been scorched. Looks up at Steve, eyes hooded, dazed, unfocused, a smirk tugging the corner of his mouth. He bites his lip, lowers the sweatpants down his thighs, cock springing free, flushed and red and _weeping_, leaving a trail of pre at the front of Steve's hoodie, his eyes never leaving Steve's. 

Steve wants to _devour_ him. 

Thinks, maybe he's got all the time in the world. 

He lies back down, throws Billy a look, pats his thighs. _Come here. _

He's not _asking._

Billy's straddling him before he can blink, eager, so eager to please, his cock pressing against Steve's, the hem of his hoodie rubbing between them when he starts moving his hips. 

Steve lets him built a rhythm, wants to test how much teasing Billy'll let him get away with before he snaps. 

'Steve,' he moans, head thrown back, throat exposed. 

Steve looks, and looks, and he still can't allow himself to _touch_, can't give that to Billy, not yet. 

'You feel good, baby?' he asks instead, smug and out of breath, and only half apologetic for dragging everything out. 

Billy grabs his face, bites into his mouth, the only coherent answer he can manage. 

Steve waits him out, gives him the time he needs to learn his mouth all over again, their kisses holding something different now, heavy and charged. 

He pulls back, eventually, eyes closed in bliss. He licks his lips, over and over and over, locking Steve's taste in his mouth. 

Steve - waits. 

They've got time, he knows that now. 

He tangles his hands in Billy's curls, marveling at how _right_ they feel between his fingers, how easily Billy melts, face open with bliss. 

He takes Billy's hand in his, brings it to his mouth. He finds Billy's eyes zeroed in on the motion, pupils blown, widening when he catches on to Steve's plan. 

Steve brings Billy's fingers to his lips, opens up, swallowing three of them, deep as he can manage. He licks at them, lathers them with spit, watches as precum gathers on Billy's cock, drips down between their bodies. 

He removes Billy's fingers from his mouth, pushes Billy so he's sitting on Steve's legs. 

'Open yourself up for me,' he says, hand still wrapped around Billy's wrist, rubbing circles, unwilling to give up that small point of contact. 

Billy's cock _kicks_. Steve's never seen him so turned on, so ruined, so _alight_. 

'You gonna let me ride you, pretty boy?' 

Steve - _keens_. 

Billy looks down at him, grin woolfish and tender in the same curve of lips, doesn't wait for an actual answer, moves his hand behind him, pushes one finger in. 

And Billy - he's always been vocal, loses control so easily when Steve's inside him, hitting every perfect spot, but this - this is new. The _sounds_ he makes, the way he's moving on top of Steve, unable to stay still, chasing every bit of pleasure - Steve is almost certain he could come just from this, Billy writhing and moaning and _all his_. 

Billy moves to add another finger, and Steve _knows_ he can take it, knows Billy likes a bit of edge spicing up his pleasure, but that's not what this is, not tonight. 

He needs Billy raw on tenderness, not on pain. 

So he takes Billy's hand, forcing him to stop, to look at Steve with a question in his eyes, until Steve cups his face, rubs his thumb across his cheek, nods towards the lube, abandoned on the bed next to them. 

Billy's eyes soften, and he nods, once, a silent agreement. He opens the cap, spreads the liquid on his hand, reaches behind him with a newfound urgency. 

He opens himself on two, then three fingers, all the while raking his eyes over Steve's form, thirsty and craving, his other hand carving a tortuous path over Steve's nipples, his stomach, his throat. Steve's holding back with everything he's got, holding still, taking every sensation in, sparks following everything Billy touches. 

He knows he's fighting a losing battle when Billy's hand starts playing with the hair on his chest. Billy smirks, knowingly, fully aware of Steve's agony, pets the short curls, _tugs_, and Steve - he's gone. 

He's been waiting so long, practically all night, and eight months before that, and he's got Billy on his lap, radiant and mouth-watering, and he needs to be inside him, _now_. 

Billy has apparently reached his limit as well, because he pulls his fingers out, soft moans escaping in the process, says, 'Steve, baby, I'm ready for you, please, sweetheart, I _need_ you.' 

And like, Steve's only human. 

There's no saying no to _that_. 

He takes the bottle of lube, drips a generous amount on his already leaking cock, gives himself a couple of strokes, hoping to stave off the inevitable, to draw everything out for just a little bit longer. 

He grabs Billy's thighs, moves him closer, pulls him down, and Billy knows what to do, they've done it so many times now, so he takes hold of Steve, raises himself up a bit, lines them up, lowers himself down, _down_. 

He's crouched over Steve's chest, covering him up completely, and they pant in each other's mouth when Billy starts moving in tiny circles, testing his limit. 

Billy's cock is pressed between them, leaving small pools of precum over Steve's stomach, leaking uncontrollably. Steve knows they're not gonna last long, _can't_, not with the emotional buildup of the whole evening, but there's no way he's letting this be over without making Billy work for it, even for a few blessed moments. 

He stops moving completely. 

Billy pulls back, just a fraction, enough to create some space between them, desperation etched on his features. 

Steve - almost gives in to him. 

'Steve, come _on_, baby, I _need_ to come,' Billy drawls, voice whiny and thick with arousal. 

'No one's stopping you,' Steve replies, revels on the heated look that flashes through Billy's eyes. 'If you're so desperate, just take what you need.' 

It's a challenge. They both know it, the way they both know Billy's incapable of backing down from one. 

Steve watches enraptured as Billy's eyes darken impossibly more. He throws his head back, places his palms on Steve's pecs, starts _moving_. Slowly at first, taking the time to adjust on Steve's cock, then faster and faster, losing himself in it. He feels unbearably tight around Steve, almost painfully so, and Steve can see he's as close as he feels, overwhelmed, drunk on the feeling of _them_, together. 

Billy moves to grab his cock, desperate for release, and Steve - he's not having that. 

He's not about to make it easy for him, not after eight months of waiting. 

'You come like this or not at all,' he says, batting Billy's hands away. 

Billy groans, the sound punched out of him, travelling all the way down to the point their bodies connect, drawing a shudder out of them. He leans down, bites Steve's jaw, needs to prove he holds _some_ control in this, even when they both know how futile the action is, and he - he starts fucking himself on Steve's cock, all restraint abandoned. 

He lasts - barely three minutes, before he's coming, loud and radiant and _stunning_, making a mess on Steve's stomach, orgasm ripped out of him. 

Steve's hoodie is _ruined_. 

Billy lets himself fall on Steve's chest, boneless and sated, and when he raises his head, there's a smile splitting his face, breathless and genuine and full of - 

_Something_. 

But Steve's still hard, shaking with the effort to hold still, and Billy's clenching around him, bringing him closer and closer, and it's not _enough_. 

Billy - takes one look at him, the strained expression on his face, licks at Steve's mouth, so sweetly, whispers _I got you_ against his lips, starts kissing his way down Steve's neck, his chest, his belly, lapping up the mess he made, before he's finally, _finally_, exactly where Steve needs him, closing his mouth around him, taking him down in one go. 

If Steve wasn't so close to shooting his load in Billy's mouth after _three seconds_, he would be embarrassed of the noises slipping out of him. 

He finds he - doesn't give a fuck, actually, not with the way Billy swallows and licks and _moans_ around him, his fingers dancing on Steve's chest, teasing his nipples, caressing his throat, tracing his lips, pressing _in_. 

Steve comes like this, Billy's mouth around him, Billy's fingers on his tongue, eyes locked on each other, full of fire. 

He drags Billy up, crawls on top of him, licks the taste of him from his mouth, their tongues moving against each other languidly, without hurry. 

It's a luxury they've never allowed themselves to indulge in, before. 

Steve figures they have eight months worth of holding themselves back to make up for. 

* 

Neither of them has the energy to move, and Billy seems to share Steve's unwillingness to let him out of his arms, even for a moment, and Steve's spent eight months watching Billy leave, so he thinks he's entitled to cuddles, like, _a lot_ of them, so. 

They cuddle. 

Steve feels - at home. Which is all kinds of absurd, seeing as he's been living in this apartment for months. 

But the thing is - he's starting to suspect that living in a place, any place, doesn't make it _home_. 

And Billy'd said _it's not home, not without you_, and Steve thinks maybe he's onto something. 

He thinks, maybe home was never the bed, or the bookcase. Maybe _home _is Billy in his arms. 

He's - more than a little floored by that thought. 

He's lying in bed with Billy, and he's home, and happy, and so, so in love. 

It aches, how much he loves the boy next to him, how desperately he wants to keep him here, and safe, and _his_, and it's almost enough to make him force the words out of his mouth, but. 

It's still so soon, and Steve thinks maybe _this_ is where it starts, and. 

He thinks about Billy saying _you cooked my favorite_, and _you never asked me to stay_, and he thinks about Billy looking at him, whispering _Steve, baby_, and he thinks, maybe, just maybe - Billy already knows. 

He falls asleep to that thought. 

* 

He wakes up to the sight of Billy, lying on his side, golden and ethereal and beautiful, watching him with soft eyes. 

Steve starts blaming the fluttering feeling in his stomach to the fact that he hasn't eaten since the beginning of his shift yesterday, remembers he doesn't have to, anymore, allows himself to pour everything he feels in the look he gives Billy. 

He cups his face, because Billy's _here_, because he can, now. 

'You're still here,' he rasps, voice fuddled with sleep, and hope, and _love_. 'You didn't leave.' 

'Yeah, I - I think maybe I won't, anymore,' Billy says, gives Steve a look riddled with uncertainty, 'if that's okay.' 

Steve - is kinda done with talking, after these last twelve hours. 

He brings their faces closer, kisses his answer on Billy's lips, until he's certain Billy knows what he means, because, if last night taught him something, it's that there are _two_ idiots in this relationship, college applications be damned, and then Steve kisses him some more, just to be sure, just because _he can_. 

He kisses Billy, and he thinks about blue waves, and how May can't come fast enough all of a sudden, he thinks about blue bruises, and bags of frozen peas he'll never use for anything other than cooking Billy's favorite food anymore, he thinks about blue eyes, filled with everything Steve feels for them, everything they haven't said, not yet, because monsters can be found everywhere, even in places that should be safe, and. 

And Steve thinks - it's okay. They've got the rest of their lives, to figure themselves, to figure _each other_ out, to let everything that's been shimmering under the surface since February, maybe even before, finally spill over. To build a life, together. 

This is where it starts. 

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me on [tumblr](https://aspartaeme.tumblr.com/)


End file.
